


a storm to weather

by jenhyung



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Arguing, Author Has Some Regrets I Guess, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22955539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhyung/pseuds/jenhyung
Summary: Jaehyun worries sometimes.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 12
Kudos: 154





	a storm to weather

**Author's Note:**

> for [alicia](https://twitter.com/okay_wecan)! thank you for requesting ♡

“Have you heard of that new movie that’s coming out?”

Jaehyun peeks out from under the covers, “Which one?”

“The one with Kim Byunghyun,” Youngho repeats. He’s sprawled across the foot of the bed, legs over where Jaehyun’s are hidden under the comforter, “I heard it’s got really good reviews.”

“Almost every movie he’s in gets good reviews,” Jaehyun hums. He lies against Youngho’s pillow, shifting under Youngho’s weight, “Is it an action film?”

“Almost every movie he’s in is an action film,” Youngho throws back. He grins when Jaehyun rolls his eyes, “There’s a showing at seven downtown tomorrow evening.”

Jaehyun tucks the blanket under his neck, sniffing at the hem like he’s been drugged, “I can’t tomorrow–I’ve got plans.”

There’s a pause. Jaehyun stops where he’s scrolling through his Instagram, thumb hovering over a picture of Kim Mingyu trying to eat a hotteok in a single bite. His heart beats a little louder in his ears, a sudden wave of heat rolling off his skin. The snug cocoon he’s made himself feels too much like a straitjacket and he knows that there’s no way out of it now that the question’s lingering in the air.

“Just with Yugyeom and his friends,” Jaehyun continues, disregarding the obvious elephant between them. He shifts, feels Youngho move with him, “We’re going to a club to celebrate someone’s birthday.”

Youngho hums, “Are you going to celebrate yours then?”

“Mine?” Jaehyun blinks.

“Yeah, your birthday,” Youngho shuts his laptop, wriggles until he’s stretched out fully on his single mattress. He’s much taller than Jaehyun no doubt, head almost bumping against the bed frame trying to fit on the same pillow, “It _is_ in a couple of days.”

“You know when my birthday is?”

“It’s not like it’s easy to forget,” Youngho mumbles. He reaches for Jaehyun’s hand and tangles their fingers together, “It’s also Valentine’s day if you didn’t already know.”

Jaehyun makes a face, “You know that’s not what I meant, hyung.” He locks his phone and tosses it somewhere between them, taking Youngho’s invitation and cozying up close, “And no–I don’t think we’re celebrating my birthday. They’re just Yugyeom’s friends from dance, so I don’t really know them enough to be–you know, imposing on them.”

Youngho’s lips are against Jaehyun’s crown, speaking quietly, “Does this mean you’ll be free to spend your birthday with me?”

The heat returns as quickly as it’d gone, swarming Jaehyun in a sort of drunken daze. He tucks his face into Youngho’s chest, the smell of last night’s slumber and lavender dryer sheets enough to bring him back to reality. Despite their three months together and the steady string of rendezvous dates in the most secretive of places, looking straight at Youngho still makes Jaehyun want to shrivel out of his skin and hide in a corner; preferably a dark one where Youngho’s enamoring eyes can’t reach him.

His heart slams against his ribs, entire body having a _fit_ , a physical reaction to Youngho’s words.

Secret or not, Youngho still makes his world spin like it’s off its hinge.

“Is this you asking me out?” Jaehyun mumbles.

Youngho hooks his ankles around Jaehyun’s burrito-form, “Is this you saying _no_?”

“You can’t let me win once, can you?” Jaehyun groans. He pulls away to glare at Youngho, but it breaks into a grin when he sees Youngho smiling down at him. It’s unreal how his brown eyes are almost glittering, perfect under the afternoon sun seeping through the window, “This is me saying _yes_.”

–

Seo Youngho.

Captain of the university’s basketball team and beloved Point Guard of the starting line-up. When Jaehyun’d first been inducted into the team, he’d thought Youngho to be cool and distant. He’d been standing around with the other third years, causing a ruckus with Center Oh Sehun and Power Forward Kim Jongin–that alone had made Seo Youngho all the more out of reach.

It didn’t take much time for Jaehyun to be proven wrong.

Seo Youngho, as it seems, is _that_ guy in university.

“Apparently,” Mingyu had said over lunch one day, “he’s, like, perfect.”

It’s not hard to believe when Youngho’s name is plastered across the university’s media sites as one of the most favored individuals on campus. Even without his title as captain, Youngho’s profile is enough to have people talking; he genuinely possesses every quality everyone wants to have–sweet enough to have all the hearts on campus tuned to his, charming enough to have teaching assistants at his beck and call, funny enough to have the dean _want_ to sit with him at lunch.

It almost felt like he was flawless from head to toe.

Jaehyun hadn’t believed it at first, but with each training that went by, he couldn’t help but believe Youngho to really be that guy; that guy that’s living up to what everyone’s singing praises of, that guy that’s so much _better_ than the rumors make him out to be.

Jaehyun was sure he was drugged by some sort of love potion one of his meddling friends poisoned his coffee with. His eyes found Youngho in every situation, his cheeks warmed whenever Youngho so much looked at his general direction, his voice squeaked when Youngho greeted him a cheery good morning.

Everywhere he went, his heart would skip if he caught sight of that classic ragged denim jacket Youngho used as a staple, often layered over a white crew neck tee with a pair of darker skin-tight jeans on his long legs. Everywhere he went, he’d do a double-take if he heard that raucous laughs that followed the third year seniors wherever they went, hoping he’d hear Youngho’s adorable chuckle too. Everywhere he went, there was only Youngho on his mind–the ever-growing crush he had on Youngho’d started to take over his life, the immense and overwhelming feeling of pure _infatuation_ just constantly on his mind–

Jaehyun was sure everyone else on campus had felt that way for Youngho, for how could they not?

Youngho who was always surrounded by a group of tight-knit friends, Youngho who was always in classes across campus, Youngho who was always so unattainable. It was almost like a dream, the fact that he knew who Jaehyun was, the fact that he’d bothered to compliment Jaehyun’s hair when he’d gotten it dyed a light brown, the fact that he’d chosen Jaehyun to practice ball passes with, the fact that he’d bought only Jaehyun a Gatorade after one of their matches with a neighboring university.

It was like a dream, Youngho knowing that he existed.

It’d made their first kiss all the more unbelievable.

Jaehyun swore–swears on Mingyu and Yugyeom and his love for Post Malone–he’d heard Youngho call for him, but when he turned–either of them clearly, very _clearly_ , misjudged the distance between them because there was practically none. Which was how he found his lips pressed to Youngho’s chin.

And Jaehyun’d run.

He’d run off so quick, leaving Youngho shell-shocked right by the ball cart they were supposed to put away.

The following was spent ignoring Youngho’s attempts at pulling him aside–until a fateful Friday that had Youngho cornering him in the locker room. With blabbered confessions and his mind rolling across wet tiles, Jaehyun’d quietly mumbled his growing attentiveness to Youngho’s every word, to Youngho’s ever step, to Youngho’s every breath. He’d prepared for Youngho to scoff and leave, to run off and tell everyone of how he’d been confessed to by a lowly junior.

Jaehyun’d gasped when Youngho kissed him.

Properly, that second time.

He’d melted in Youngho’s hands, eyes shut so tight he’d seen stars.

–

_Text me when you get home?_

Jaehyun smiles at the text, shooting a quick _I will, hyung!_ back before tucking his phone away and rejoining the conversation.

A little more than half the group have already migrated off to the dance floor, leaving the milder half of tonight’s party in a booth near the back of the club. The seats are unexpectedly plush and pleasantly clean so Jaehyun’s burrowed himself a comfortable Jaehyun-sized dent in the seat closest to the wall, sipping slowly at his second gin and tonic.

Across him, Mingyu’s already fallen asleep despite the deafening house music, curled up comfortably in his boyfriend’s–a Jeon Wonwoo–lap. Jaehyun tries not to stare, knowing that even the strobe lights won’t be able to blind his jealousy away.

How has it been three blissful months of being together with Youngho, Jaehyun doesn’t know. In fact, he doesn’t know many things. One of them is very blatantly how he got himself into this very undefined position with the most popular guy on campus, another is how has he gone so long without uttering a word of it to a single soul.

When Youngho kissed him right for the very first time, Jaehyun wanted to sing it to the skies. He wanted to run across the quad and proclaim his joy, he wanted to call his friends and gush about his kissed lips. There were so many things he wanted to do, but he didn’t–because what would people say?

What would people say if they knew Youngho were spending his nights at Jaehyun’s measly studio apartment? If they knew the university’s most beloved boy sat through a lot of Jaehyun’s terrible cooking and lied through his teeth about them being edible? If they knew Youngho hugged Jaehyun to sleep almost every other night because the cold is his Achilles’ heel? If they knew that Youngho’s spending time with _Jaehyun_?

As in, Jung Jaehyun.

Of all the people he could pick, of all the better chefs, of all the more interesting characters, of all the better options he clearly has laid out for him–Youngho picked Jaehyun.

Really, Jaehyun didn’t understand it a single bit. 

But did Youngho _really_ pick him?

As far as dating goes, they’re not exactly official. Or exclusive. Or _boyfriends._

But doesn't spending Valentines' day mean something? Or is it just wishful thinking at this point?

Before he gets to mull over this further, someone drops heavily onto the empty seat beside Jaehyun, groaning the moment he touches the soft cushions.

“I’m too old for this,” Kim Yugyeom groans, moving to rest his head against Jaehyun’s shoulder. He takes a swig from his drink, not bothered by the fact that his sweat’s seeping through Jaehyun’s shirt, “This is the last time we’re ever doing this.”

“You say that every time we go out,” Jaehyun reminds him. He tries to shrug Yugyeom off, “Why are you drenched in sweat, Gyeom, it’s like you just ran a marathon, where did you go–”

“The real question is–” Yugyeom sighs, sitting up now to look Jaehyun in the eye, “Why aren’t you out there like the rest of us?”

Jaehyun shrugs, “It just isn’t my night tonight.”

“Every night is singles’ night.” Yugyeom squints, “Are you hiding something from us, Jung?”

“What–no–”

“–or are you hiding someone?” Yugyeom raises a brow, unwilling to let Jaehyun slither his way out of this one.

“There’s no one,” Jaehyun stresses. When Yugyeom shoots him a look of disbelief, Jaehyun rolls his eyes, “I swear, I’m not–seeing anyone right now. I don’t have anyone I’m–sneaking off with.”

_Lie, lies, liar._

Yugyeom considers this. Then, his eyes light up, “I actually–seriously have the perfect guy for you then.”

Jaehyun blinks.

“Woo-ya!” Yugyeom is yelling across the booth, waving over a boy Jaehyun’s never seen before. In the dimmed lights, Jaehyun can only make out a vague silhouette, tall and lean. Yugyeom is scooting aside and gesturing for the stranger to sit by Jaehyun, “Get over here–I’ve got someone I want you to meet!”

Jaehyun pushes himself up to the wall, already hating the gnawing feeling in his gut. He nearly spills his drink over himself when the stranger sits, equally awkward at the way things are unfolding.

“Kim Sunwoo, a friend of mine,” Yugyeom introduces. He’s grinning from ear-to-ear, either completely oblivious to the palpable tension or deliberately disregarding it entirely, “Jung Jaehyun, a friend of mine from high school. You’re both single. You’re both bored. Talk.”

Jaehyun shakes his head, tries to get Yugyeom not to leave but he does, winking flirtatiously at Jaehyun before skipping away and diving back onto the dance floor. Aghast, Jaehyun keeps his eyes trained on Yugyeom’s traitorous back, refusing to deal with the situation that is the tall boy beside him.

“Um,” Jaehyun hears. It’s low and timid, “I can leave if you want me to?”

The music pounding through the speakers reverberate in Jaehyun’s veins, a push that makes him turn to assess the boy–Kim Sunwoo–beside him. Closer now, Sunwoo’s soft features are clear under the vintage lightbulbs illuminating the booth.

Sunwoo sits, long legs stretched out clumsily. In his hand is a half-empty glass, fingers decorated nicely with a few gold rings, simple and delicate. Jaehyun risks a glance to Sunwoo’s face–young, with sharp almond eyes and a tall nose. His lips are parted, pink, watching Jaehyun as he’s being watched.

“You–don’t have to leave,” Jaehyun decides. No harm in making new friends, right? And it isn’t like Jaehyun could, for no good reason, chase away someone he’s just met. Sunwoo nods, and Jaehyun clears his throat, “So–how do you know Yugyeom?”

“Debate club.”

Jaehyun can’t hide the shock that crosses his face, “Debate?”

Sunwoo laughs, smile charming, “Yeah, but he’s never there for training.” He licks his lips, “Though, I think I’ve really only seen him present whenever we have events that cater free food.”

“Ah,” Jaehyun nods, “That sounds more like the Yugyeom I know.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s terrible at debate though,” Sunwoo grins.

Jaehyun pulls his brows together, “Really? Do tell.”

“I mean, he convinced the lot of us nerds here on a Friday night,” Sunwoo says, looking around the raving club. The booths are empty sans a couple of people passed out or nose-deep in their phones, “I would say he’s pretty excellent in the art of persuasion.”

Jaehyun laughs because he knows just how persuasive Yugyeom can get when he wants something to go his way. He follows Sunwoo’s line of sight, observing the mass of writhing bodies and arms raised in the air, losing themselves to the steady thrum of 00s pop mixed house tracks. He hadn’t been out for a night like this in a long time, but it wasn’t exactly something he missed dearly.

He turns back to Sunwoo, who’s still watching the crowd, “I’m guessing this isn’t the type of Friday night you’re used to?”

“Nope,” Sunwoo sighs. He stares at his drink almost forlornly, “I’d rather be in bed with my cat right about now.”

Jaehyun perks up, “You have a cat?”

“I do.” Sunwoo fishes around for his phone, screen lighting up to reveal a majestic looking white cat that didn’t want to have its picture taken, “Her name’s Wangbi.”

Jaehyun gapes, “As in _queen_?”

“As in _queen_ ,” Sunwoo echoes. “She reigns as the queen of my apartment after all.”

He pulls up a couple more pictures for Jaehyun to flick through, excitedly explaining each photograph as they did.

Jaehyun laughs when Sungwoo shows him one of Wangbi in her carrier, disgruntled at having to fit in it to visit the vet. He coos when Sungwoo shows him one of Wangbi in the window hammock he’d bought off Gmarket, enjoying the purple-pink hue of the sunset. He snorts when Sungwoo shows him one of Wangbi drenched to the bone, looking furious at Sunwoo for having bathed her after she’d tipped over a bowl of teriyaki sauce.

“Getting along now, are you?”

Jaehyun looks up from where he’d been leaning close, too immersed in the abundance of Wangbi photographs to even care about anything else happening around him. Yugyeom is back now, a couple of other friends in tow, all of whom too drunk to stay steady on their feet.

Amongst them, a familiar face catches Jaehyun’s eyes. He doesn’t know where from, but the petite physique and perfectly coiffed platinum blonde hair felt too much like déjà vu for Jaehyun to ignore. He almost looked too young to have a Hite in his hand. Jaehyun flinches inwardly when the boy looks at him and he grows anxious when he’s recognized; the boy’s eyes are slightly upturned, a dark glitter over his lids, gaze sharp.

Sunwoo locks his phone and Jaehyun sits up, unaware of how he’d been closing the distance between them. He’s thankful for the underlit character of the club, completely hiding his warming ears.

“Relax, Gyeom,” Sunwoo says, sounding much less affected than Jaehyun felt. He picks his drink back up from where he’d let it rest on the table, taking a small sip, “We’re just talking.”

“That’s how most relationships start out, you know,” Yugyeom points out.

“Dude, come on–”

“It’s not like that!”

Jaehyun’s knee-jerk reaction is loud and unprecedented. It makes Sunwoo turn to look at him, not hurt nor upset, merely confused at Jaehyun’s sudden outburst. He tries to say something to redeem himself, to apologize because it’s not like he’s dating anyone _anyway_ and Sunwoo’s been nothing but perfectly nice to him all night–

“I mean–”

The first thing Jaehyun feels is his drink down the front of his shirt. The next thing he feels–is Sunwoo’s lips on his chin.

It’s brief, barely even a proper kiss.

He doesn’t get the chance to react because Sunwoo is jumping off him in that same second, fumbling to stand and lifting his hands, palms forward. He looks just as surprised as Jaehyun is, spinning around to figure what the hell’d just happened in the last three seconds.

“–sorry!” Someone is saying, “Kyung just fell over, and–”

Jaehyun doesn’t hear the rest. He lies, the ice over his shirt melting slowly against his torso, frozen in shock. The glass is still in his hand, the only thing he’s holding onto right now that’s keeping him from bolting up and running out of the club.

From where he’s standing, Sunwoo watches him, “Jaehyun, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Stop,” Jaehyun shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear it. It did _not_ just happen to him, it didn’t. He moves robotically, disregarding Sunwoo’s outstretched hand to get to his feet. A million thoughts run across his mind, only one makes it through his lips, “I gotta go.”

“I’m sorry, it was an accident,” Sunwoo is saying. “I didn’t–”

“Jaehyun, wait,” Yugyeom shuffles forward, “Jaehyun–”

“I gotta go,” Jaehyun says again. He pushes past Yugyeom and Sunwoo, ignoring the puzzled looks he’s getting. It isn’t a big deal, it isn’t; it isn’t even a kiss. It was an accident, and it just can’t be a big deal–especially not for Jaehyun, who isn’t seeing anyone; especially Jaehyun who, to everyone’s knowledge, is single.

“Jung!”

Jaehyun lets the neon lights direct him out of the club and onto the sidewalk, breathing in a very welcomed gust of cool air. He saunters off to the side with his vision blurring the cracks on the pavement, away from the line of people still readying themselves for a long night out. Heavily, he sits himself on the curb, stretching his legs out onto the empty street.

For a long while, he sits.

–

Jaehyun intends to spend the weekend in bed. He ignores every call and every message that pings in, shutting the world out without a care for anything else. He barely eats, too filled with guilt to have even a slice of bread or a bite of fruit. He sleeps through most of it, adamant at shutting the world out, set on speaking to not a single soul.

Other than Youngho, that is.

“Are you okay?”

Jaehyun blinks, remembering that he’d reluctantly picked up Youngho’s call. It’s Sunday evening now, and without a doubt, he’ll be seeing his friends again tomorrow–not to mention Yugyeom too at basketball practice. Even if he wanted to forget Friday–no matter how minor it seemed like to everyone–he knows Yugyeom’ll be asking about his hurried escape.

It wasn’t a big deal. He shouldn’t have made it into a big deal. It wasn’t even a kiss; Sunwoo’s lips were on his chin. That hardly counts as something.

Jaehyun closes his eyes when the memory of him kissing Youngho’s chin for the very first time surfaces.

_Right._

“I’m fine, hyung,” Jaehyun says, though not quite believing it himself either. He rolls around in bed, hoping the temporary release of sleep will claim him once more.

On his nightstand is a picture of him and Youngho on their very first date to Namsan Tower, an unbelievably cheesy spot that Youngho was determined on visiting. They’d gone on an empty Wednesday afternoon, enjoying the wintery breeze and the unpolluted view of the rest of Seoul.

Against Jaehyun’s wishes, they bought a lock and wrote their initials on it with a Sharpie, decorated by hearts. Jaehyun’d thought it to be the most embarrassing thing he’d ever done, but when Youngho tiptoed to lock it on high above the rest, grinning madly at his achievement, Jaehyun’d thought nothing’d ever touched his heart like this before.

“You sound like you’re sick,” Youngho says now. There’s rustling on the other end of the line, “Have you eaten?”

Jaehyun wonders if he should lie, “No, I haven’t. But I’m not hungry, I–”

“I’ll come over with some porridge,” Youngho says. He doesn’t pause for Jaehyun to refuse, “I’ll be over in ten, okay?”

Not one to say no to seeing Youngho, Jaehyun agrees. When he hangs up, a new wave of uneasiness turns in his gut, creeps up his spine. He forces himself out of bed, convincing himself that he shouldn’t at least smell like two-day old trash if Youngho’s coming all this way just to make sure he’s eating well.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Youngho’s laid out a bowl of porridge and a couple of banchan for Jaehyun, now rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers to get Jaehyun a pair of chopsticks and a spoon. He’s without his denim jacket today, a large, orange hoodie in its place. It’s a little wrinkled along the arms like Youngho'd spent the most of this weekend lazing around too.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun mumbles. He thanks Youngho when the older boy returns with the utensils, saying a quiet _thank you for the meal_ before placing his spoon into the bowl.

“Careful,” Youngho says, “it’s hot.”

Jaehyun nods, blowing on it gently before taking his first bite. It’s ginger chicken, the kind Jaehyun’s grandmother used to make whenever he fell ill with the flu. He eats without speaking much, unsure of where to look when Youngho takes the seat adjacent to his around the dining table.

Youngho says nothing either, and it’s as if they’re now accompanied by a rather large elephant.

Jaehyun picks up a shred of kimchi, chewing thoughtfully and stealing glances at Youngho from under his bangs. Youngho licks his lips and parts them, then shuts them and looks away, as though wading through a maelstrom of his own.

It’s when he’s almost done with his bowl that Youngho asks, “How was the party?”

Jaehyun’s teeth clinks against the metal, the sound of it painful even in its silence. If Youngho noticed his stutter, he didn’t look it; more, Jaehyun hears something else in Youngho’s voice that makes his skin prick.

Simply, “It was fine.”

“Was it?” Youngho is looking straight at him now, the hesitancy from earlier vanishing into thin air. Under his eyes are dark circles Jaehyun’d never noticed before.

“It was–okay,” Jaehyun says slowly. He dances around it, takes a leisurely bite of cold bean sprouts.

Youngho doesn’t blink. His shoulders are pulled back, “You’re saying nothing happened?”

There it is again, that crippling undertone Jaehyun can’t place.

Everything bleeds into the background and Jaehyun _really_ looks at Youngho.

The shine in his eyes are dulled, the whites of his eyes are stained an angry pink–like he hasn’t slept for as long as Jaehyun hasn’t. His cheeks are puffier, a gray tone to them–like he hasn’t eaten enough to keep the color of his beautifully tanned skin. There’re cracks and tears lining his lips, the plush pink now a distressed crimson–like he’s spent too much time chewing on it.

Jaehyun stops.

_He knows._

_He must know._

But how?

And why are they playing this game of push and pull? If Youngho knows then it’s fine now, isn’t it? He must know the full story–he must know that it meant nothing. And even if it _did_ mean something, it isn’t like they’re– _together_.

Right?

Jaehyun thinks to say something, anything to fill the silence that’s threatening to drown them both but Youngho’s already mumbling under his breath. The chair scratches against linoleum when Youngho stands, already halfway across the kitchen.

“What–” Jaehyun’s legs follow, brain working the quickest that it had been the entirety of the last twenty-four hours. He leaves the dining table and scurries into the hall, “Where are you going?”

Youngho doesn’t spare him a glance, “Does it even matter?”

Jaehyun recoils at the hostility he hears, “What are you–”

“I know you kissed someone else, Jaehyun.”

And he’s glad he can’t see Youngho’s face because even the words alone are enough to convey the degree of disappointment, the extent of hurt (was it?) Jaehyun stays, knowing not what to do, knowing not what to say.

“And I know–we’re not–” Youngho sighs, shoulders slumping. The grip around Jaehyun’s chest tightens like it’s strung too tight; he hadn’t ever seen Youngho look so–defeated. Youngho stops walking, but he doesn’t turn around, set on speaking to the door, “I know we’re not–boyfriends, so–” he scoffs at himself, “–do whatever you want.”

Jaehyun doesn’t follow, “What?”

“I said do whatever you want.” Youngho is moving again, “See whoever you want, kiss whoever you want, lie to whoever you want.”

“I–” Jaehyun stumbles over his own feet, “I didn’t kiss anyone!”

And Youngho whirls around. Jaehyun expects the worst, despite knowing Youngho would never lay a hand on him, would never lay a hand on a fly, even. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees instead that Youngho just looks–broken.

“Please–” he breathes, shallow, “–just stop lying to me.”

“I’m not!” Jaehyun shakes his head, exasperated by the disbelief he sees, “I did _not_ kiss Sunwoo, I swear–”

“I don’t want to know his name,” Youngho hisses.

Jaehyun rises in anger, “Why don’t you believe me! Who told you we kissed–hyung, even if–it’s not like I–you and I–we’re not–”

_No._

“Forget it,” Youngho snaps. The anger is new and it hurts. Jaehyun wrings his hands tight, wishes he’d never said anything because it’s almost like they’re both too far gone. Youngho’s whirled up in a storm Jaehyun can’t find his way out of.

“Okay, then–”

“We’re done here.”

Jaehyun loses the blood in his cheeks, “What?” Youngho turns for the door, and Jaehyun’s body works better than his mind does, nearly catapulting himself into Youngho’s side. He grabs Youngho’s arm, “Wait, hyung, what do you–wait–”

Youngho jerks away, ripping himself from Jaehyun’s desperate grasp. He refuses to even spare Jaehyun a glance, cheeks and neck flushed an angry red. There hasn’t been a time Jaehyun ever felt so out of place with Youngho, but now, with Youngho barely in his hands, dancing on the tips of his fingers–Jaehyun is _scared_.

Youngho breathes, takes it right out of Jaehyun’s lungs, “You crossed a line. We’re done, Jaehyun.”

“No!” Jaehyun cries. He follows, hopelessly trying to have Youngho look at him. “I didn’t mean–it’s not what you think, I swear I didn’t–mean to kiss–”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Youngho says. He straightens his back, towers over Jaehyun. His expression is cold, “If you want to keep us undefined, if you want to keep me a secret, if you want to go around kissing other people–”

“I don’t want to–”

“–fine, but I never thought you’d lie to me, Jaehyun.” Youngho licks his lips, “Having my best friend come up to me, telling me that he’s seen you with someone else–and having you _lie_ to me about it, having you keep it from me? If you really thought it meant nothing, why didn’t you just tell me? Did you think we were so close to _nothing_ that you couldn’t be bothered to?”

Jaehyun whispers, the pressure behind his eyes swelling, “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?” Youngho doesn’t wait for an answer, “I trusted you, Jaehyun, I really did. And I thought I meant something to you, at least enough for you to tell me that you’ve found someone new to be with.” He laughs, “But I guess not.”

“I didn’t–” Jaehyun doesn’t stop the tears from falling, “I didn’t do any of that.”

Youngho swallows thickly, “And I wish I could believe you. I really do.”

“Hyung,” Jaehyun pleads. Youngho’s frown deepens when Jaehyun tries to reach for him; Youngho backpedals, “Hyung, please–”

“You crossed a line.” Youngho shoves his shoes on haphazardly, “I’m sorry.”

“No, please–let me explain–”

“I thought we _had_ something,” Youngho pulls the door open, “and I wish I were strong enough to stay. But there really is only so much I can take.”

And with that, he turns and leaves.

When the door closes, Jaehyun succumbs to the weakness the defeats him. He sinks to the floor, encased in the darkness of the entryway, accompanied by nothing but smelly shoes and the stench of his own regret.

–

Jaehyun stays in bed until Thursday.

Yugyeom calls him a hundred times, Mingyu calls him twice as much.

Youngho never calls.

–

The only reason he gets out of bed at four in the evening is to make it for practice at five. This indefinite cold war he’s fighting with Youngho has a giant, six-foot Youngho-shaped hole adamant on staying by his shoulder–Jaehyun can’t take it any longer. Jaehyun’s phone has been quieter than it’s ever been and there’s no doubt that he’s starting to feel it carve a Youngho-shaped dent against his heart.

“Whoa.”

Mingyu’s palm is against his chest. Jaehyun doesn’t mention that his ribs are seconds away from breaking into pieces; it’s not as if they’re of any use anyway, his heart’s no longer there.

“What the hell happened to you?” Mingyu demands to know. Jaehyun hears the evident concern and he feels spoiled to think that it isn’t Mingyu he wants worried about him. Mingyu pulls them off the court, standing by the ball cart, “You’ve been missing for _days_ , Jae, no one’s been able to reach you and you weren’t answering your door–what the hell happened?”

_Seo Youngho happened._

He’s heard tales of how difficult heartbreaks are, but this–this is different.

“You’re not training today,” Mingyu says, effectively carrying the conversation on his own. “There’s no way–you look like you haven’t eaten in _days,_ Jae. What the hell–Gyeom and I were so worried, we almost called the _police_ and–”

He’s interrupted by that same raucous laughter, the one he hasn’t heard in days. On instinct, he turns to look, despite the majority of his senses telling him to ignore it–and, oh, _oh_ –how he wished he’d ignored it.

Across the court, Youngho stands with a couple of other players and a few of the newer freshers for the season. They seem to be having a discussion on ball passes–Jaehyun feels the immediate sting when he realizes he’ll never be called to work with Youngho ever again. A few of them are practicing throws along the bleachers, chattering and cracking up at whatever joke’s being thrown around.

Jaehyun’s about to tear his eyes away when a fresher slips through the stands.

“–watch out!”

And it really couldn’t be anyone else.

Youngho catches him of course, bounds down three tiers and nearly slips to catch the boy by the arms. He’s holding the boy steady, arms hooked under the fresher’s. Both of them look equally frazzled when the small circle around them bursts into applause and a handful of catcalls. Youngho helps the fresher up, who bows in identical parts gratitude and remorse. He looks sheepish when the cheers don’t stop, an obvious hue of vermillion coloring his cheeks.

Jaehyun doesn’t know anymore.

But then he does.

The coil in his gut, the heat in his limbs, the green in his eyes. He understands it all, and he _hates_ it.

In one fluid motion, Jaehyun grabs a basketball from the ball cart and hurls it at the court with as much strength he could possibly muster. The resounding _thud_ echoes loudly across the hall, the following bounces of the basketball fading off into something weaker until it eventually lulls into a roll towards just the boy Jaehyun’s aimed for.

“What the–” Mingyu grabs Jaehyun by the shoulders, shakes him, “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

Jaehyun doesn’t care.

Youngho’s finally looking at him now. A cross of emotions flood his features, none of which Jaehyun can even start to decipher before it’s all gone–he puts on an indifferent expression, staring Jaehyun down like he’s no one but another fresher passing by.

And it’s like the knife stuck in his chest–one that’d been in there for days, growing scabs and refusing to let Jaehyun bleed free–is twisted over and over, reviving wounds and tearing him apart.

Everyone is staring now and Jaehyun can’t do this.

Blood rushes to his face, to his head, and he starts to lose all feeling in his legs.

“I–I–”

He tries to tell Mingyu to let go, but he can’t seem to say anything, not with all the attention on him. With what feels like is his last breath, he jerks free and makes a break for the exit, stumbling as he goes. His shoes are squeaking against the maple hardwood floors, over the sound of Mingyu calling after him, over the sound of him being cut off.

Jaehyun makes a sprint for the lockers, head spinning madly with every lunge forward. The rows of bright red lockers start to blend to a single wall of crimson and he’s looking up at the bar lights–

“–hey, hey.”

Jaehyun blinks. He doesn’t recall having shut his eyes, and he absolutely doesn’t remember being propped up against the white-tiled wall. It’s a jersey with the number twenty-nine painted in white, chipping off at the corners from being well-worn.

Immediately, Jaehyun tries to push it away.

“–hey–” Youngho’s voice is unmistakable and Jaehyun can’t take it, “Hey, are you okay?”

“What does it matter to you?” Jaehyun manages to mutter, staggering out of the steady hold Youngho’s got him in, “Get away from me–”

“Jaehyun–”

“Go away,” he snaps. It takes energy Jaehyun doesn’t have, and he’s grappling for the lockers to keep his face from first meeting the floor, “Go back to your friends–”

“You’re not okay.” Youngho decides this, ignoring Jaehyun’s attempt at breaking free and moving around quick to catch Jaehyun’s arms in his hands, “You’re pale, Jaehyun, you can’t train today–you need to go–”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” The band in Jaehyun’s chest snaps, and it’s a like a broken dam when the first tear breaks through and he crumbles, leaning his weight into Youngho’s firm hold, “You don’t get to tell me what to do–”

“As your captain–”

“I don’t care!” The pain in his chest turns into something he can’t explain anymore, no longer physical, “You didn’t–you didn’t even let me explain! You listened to everyone else, you listened to everyone but me–” Jaehyun hates the way Youngho eases, “–what does that say about how much you trust me, huh?”

Youngho shakes his head, “We’re not doing this here–”

“If it bothered you so much then why didn’t you just ask me about it?” Jaehyun sees a flicker in Youngho’s eyes, “If it bothered you so much then why didn’t you just ask me to be yours?”

“Because I knew you weren’t ready.” Youngho pulls him closer, brows furrowing like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. His voice drops low, “You wanted us to be a secret, you wanted me to be a secret–I wasn’t going to push you to do something you aren’t ready for.”

“And you thought to break up–”

“We _didn’t_ break up, we weren’t even together–”

Jaehyun inhales sharply, “You’re _so_ –”

“What do you want, Jaehyun,” Youngho says. His chest rises high with every breath, “Because I don’t know what is it you want with me. Do you want to be with me or not?” He doesn’t let Jaehyun speak, “You say it’s nothing that you’ve gone and kissed another guy, but you’re–acting like this when I let you go. What should I do, Jae, because I’ve really got no idea anymore.”

And Jaehyun doesn’t understand how it’s come to this. He doesn’t understand why they couldn’t have just _dated_ as regular people do, he doesn’t understand why they didn’t make things clear earlier, he doesn’t understand why they’ve made it so much harder than it has to be.

“I want–” Jaehyun doesn’t care that he’s got tears on his lips, “I just want to be with you. I want to date you, I don’t want to date anyone else, I don’t want to kiss–I _didn’t_ kiss anyone else. They–swear on god, they fell on me, there wasn’t any–I didn’t–”

“I’m sorry.” Youngho frees Jaehyun’s wrists and snakes his arms around Jaehyun, the warmth a warm welcome. He turns, lips moving against Jaehyun’s temple, “I’m sorry for how I reacted–I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you, I–I wasn’t being fair to you, Jae.”

Jaehyun digs his hands into Youngho’s jersey, “I know.”

“I didn’t know what to do with my own feelings,” Youngho goes on. “I shouldn’t have–accused you, and the past few days have been so–I hate the way I left things, I–didn’t know how to fix it. I still don’t.”

“I want to say it’s okay,” Jaehyun mumbles, “but it still hurt. Even if we weren’t together.”

Youngho kisses his forehead, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Jaehyun says quietly. He pulls away, tilts his head enough for Youngho to take the hint and catch his lips in a sweet kiss. Again, he melts, hiding away once more not two seconds later, “I don’t know if everything will be alright.”

Slow, “What do you mean?”

“I’m–” Jaehyun hasn’t ever admitted this aloud, “I’m always thinking about what people might think of us–of you dating someone like me and–”

“What’s wrong with someone like you?”

The question is so innocuous, so genuine, that Jaehyun can’t find it in himself to roll his eyes. He hears footsteps, but Youngho is watching him, waiting, “I don’t know yet.”

Youngho hesitates, but decides against pressing for more, “Okay.” He hugs Jaehyun a little tighter, “I don’t know how to help, but all I have is–myself.”

Jaehyun knows he shouldn’t be flying over the moon, but by god–if he doesn’t over Youngho, he won’t ever for anyone else. He waits for Youngho to say more, to take it back even, but he doesn’t. They stay, silent and basking in the embrace they’ve missed so much.

“That’s–” Jaehyun knows, “more than enough, hyung.”

**Author's Note:**

> a sorta continuation from [this](https://twitter.com/jenhyungs/status/1216064369915658240) ;; i rewrote it from start to finish a couple of times and i'm not sure how to feel about it anymore ;; i'm not entirely sure if this is what you wanted but ;; 
> 
> ryan
> 
> x


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